Lucky

The following piece is something I posted in another social networking site, and I was told it was fairly well-written, with encouragement to publish it here. It may have some TMI if you are squeamish about others’ bodies; consider yourself warned:

Just the other day I was encouraging a friend to better how she saw her body. Not a bad thing to do, but all the while I was thinking about my own flaws and some days how much I dislike my own body.

When I talk about hating my body most people think it is about my weight. Yes, as of yesterday I am 5’7″ and 283 pounds. While I don’t think I’m of average build (big boned and a lot of boob and muscle), I’m fat. But as long as I can remember, I’ve always been overweight, and I think I would look weird skinny. My concern for weight loss is more health-based.

I’m not asking for solutions or sympathy, I’m just getting it “out there”. Here is what I don’t like about my body:

  • My teeth. I was not blessed with straight teeth and I have had appliance after appliance, braces, retainers, surgeries, etc., and my top teeth are still not 100% straight (my bottom still have the permanent retainer keeping them straight). As a child I had more than my fair share of liquid amoxicilin, which apparently stains your teeth pretty badly, a fact my teeth show.
  • Under my arms. I have these little oddly-shaped bunches of skin clustered around there. I don’t know what they are, all I know is that my dad has them and the docs refuse to remove his. This makes me feel a little less, feminine I guess.
  • My hands. They are fat (my high school and college rings are men’s styles), they are often rough despite my attempts, and my nails are uber-fragile. It is not uncommon for me to break a nail simply by accidentally smacking my hand against a door frame. It is a struggle to keep my nails as long as they are, and rarely do they grow beyond the tip of my finger.
  • My scars. From a quick glance, there are 17 on my lower arms, 12 on my chest/stomach, and I don’t even care to know how many are on my legs. With the exception of my c-section scars and one line on my right knee from falling on broken concrete ~12 years ago, the rest of the scars are from bug bites, mainly from mosquitoes and spiders. And yes, I’ve heard the line “Then you must be really sweet”, and that has gotten so old it is ancient. I’m absolutely ashamed of my legs.
  • My feet. I hate this part of my body the most. There is something strange about me allowing a lover to do all sorts of things to my vagina before I will let him/her touch my feet. They have similar scarring as my legs, the same nail problems as my hands, and some pretty serious callous issues. It is pretty embarrassing going to a nail salon, having the gal working on your feet gather the other technicians around, chattering in Korean for everyone else to see for a good 5 minutes while looking at your feet, and then telling you she can’t work on them.

Despite all of this, there are people who have seen all of this and still find me physically attractive. I consider myself pretty lucky.

February 5, 2012 – Chaos, Birthdays, and Minor Super Bowl Victories!

It has been a week of celebration and of chaos. I will admit that I should be testing my sugar and keeping track of my food, but I haven’t.  I will also admit I’ve been a bad blogger, wife, girlfriend, friend, etc. lately due to a combination of stress and nonsense just getting in my way, especially in particular to one big thing going on this month that is the major source of my chaos.  I do apologize for all of these things, and I promise to try to make it up to you once the chaos is largely settled.  There may even be a contest on here as a result, so keep reading.

Onto things I really can talk about:

We celebrated N.’s birthday this Saturday. His fourth party was at a bowling alley, and most importantly he and his brother (and everyone else) seemed to have a blast.  Mommy? Not so much…..in trying to rescue G. from chasing his ball down the lane, I went after him, and we both fell.  While he only hit the floor, I took out a bumper with my legs/lower back and smacked my head against a wall (we were on an end lane), which left me with several light bruises the next day.  Just to think it doesn’t seem so long ago that he was being lifted out of me looking so confused as to what was going on, and now we’re researching schools. I am proud of how far he has gone in such a small amount of time – what 4 year old adds numbers correctly – and I love him to pieces (even when he is moody).

I also have a small Super-Bowl-related victory: I have found another diet pop I really like. In a hurry to Jim’s to watch the game with the seven of us, I grabbed diet root beer so I’d have something to drink. By the end of the night, about half of the 2-liter was gone, mainly by me, someone who is generally not a pop drinker. So yay for having more drink options!

But I better go rest this tired ol’ body before it rebels.